


Till Next Time

by MissGoss



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-12-03
Packaged: 2020-07-31 14:10:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20116378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissGoss/pseuds/MissGoss
Summary: Through the years, John and Paul always found a way to celebrate with one another. Until the day John meets the girl he’s been waiting for. The day ‘next time’ became ‘the last time.’





	1. October 1, 1962

John walked down the dark pavement right alongside Paul, shoving his hands in his coat pockets as he sharply inhaled the brisk air, regretting not dressing warmer. The lads had just signed their second contract, with the right members this time, the contract they knew would seal their fate for the next five years. “So, we officially have a manager now, and a real recordin’ contract,” he said, exhaling through his mouth and watching the cloud of his breath disappear into the air. They had already been signed on with Epstine for most of the year, but not with Ringo, and not with George Martin either. This one felt final. It was it, and John was determined to celebrate with the one he cared for the most. That was, unfortunately, not his new wife. No, it was best friend.

“I know, a bit strange isn’t it? To think that we’ll actually get to go somewhere that isn’t just the clubs in Hamburg or Liverpool?” Paul laughed, pulling his coat tighter around himself. They walked near the water, the fishy, salty smell surrounding them. It was dark except for the occasional street lamp here and there, though neither of them minded. He could tell something was on his friend’s mind, he also knew that he could manage to get whatever it was out of him. It was a sort of superpower, Paul could make John tell him anything. 

Paul’s laugh, that was better than any contract he could sign, he wanted to hear that sound for as long as he lived. Even if it did mean playing in dingy clubs after the local bigshots, but all of that was over. He’d get to hear that beautiful sounds playing in dingy clubs as the local bigshot. “Yeah, I’ll give you that. There’s a liquor store down the street, care to celebrate?”

The bassist smiled, “Yeah, yeah I would.” The two walked to the shop, lucky for them it was open until late in the night. They entered, a comfortable silence between the two as John picked up a bottle of whiskey for the both of them to share. At the counter, though they were both legal, John bought it as Paul’s features often made him seem younger than he really was. The two left the shop and John cracked open the bottle, taking a big swig before handing it over to his friend, eyes shut tight in pain as the alcohol hit the back of his throat. “Are we just going to walk out in the cold? I’m not complaining, but I can barely feel me fingers,” he asked before taking an equal sized drink to match John.

“I’d say you could come ‘round to mine, but Cyn’s there,” John said with a small shrug. He tried to think of someplace they could go, coming up short at this time of night.

Paul nodded, “It’s fine out here.” After they passed the bottle back and forth for a while and were getting right tipsy, he decided he’d get to the bottom of that prior incination. “Something on your mind? Aside from the obvious.”

John should’ve known that was coming, he couldn’t hide anything from Paul that kid was like a damn bloodhound. “Why?” he decided to be coy, play dumb and tease, “Am I not giving you enough attention, Paulie?”

Paul scrunched his nose at the nickname, though he cracked a smile. “Shove off, you seem distracted, ‘s all,” he took the bottle back, taking a sip before going on, “Is it Cyn and the baby?” That got a laugh from John. Those two were the furthest thing from his mind when he was around Paul. That man consumed his thoughts, his very being, whenever they were together and sometimes when they were apart. Maybe it had been in Germany, or sometime shortly after he had gotten his first glimpse of those deep brown doe eyes that the thought of Paul started to absorb his mind. 

“No, nothing like that. I have the right to think, you know,” he said, smirking, “It’s not all nuts and bolts up there.” No, it was all Paul. John started to steer them to a bench, no longer wanting to walk. Sitting and drinking with his friend at his side sounded very appealing at the moment, more so than fighting the wind that was currently trying to push the two of them in the opposite direction. Once the two were settled, facing the sea, the bottle going from one boy to another, John spoke again, “Still cold?”

Paul laughed, “I don’t have that much whiskey in me yet.” He was shivering, cheeks red and patchy, nose threatening to run. Despite the fact he couldn’t move his toes in his boots, he was having a good time just being with John. Since he had gotten married, most of his free time was spent with her, especially since she was carrying a little Lennon on top of that. 

Taking a chance, John moved closer to Paul, putting his arm around his shoulders and pulling him against his body. It wasn’t romantic if he didn’t want it to be, John could just tell him that it was to help them both get warm. After a moment, Paul had himself nestled under his arm, he was too happy to protest, besides it really was warming him up. “It’s exciting, we’re going to play real gigs, go on tours, have fans across the world. Just you, me, and our music,” he was going on, but the alcohol was starting to have an effect on him. Paul didn’t correct him, the thought was pleasant enough without adding in reality. They weren’t going to be alone, but he could pretend that they were for even just a moment.

“Yeah, you and me,” Paul sighed, taking a swing of the whiskey, the bottle was nearly empty so he handed t back to John to finish off. Both men were growing warmer, their head starting to fog. 

John took the bottle and downed the rest before turning, face to face with his friend. It was dark but the soft glow of the street lamp behind them lit up his features, his beauty nearly made him shiver. “What do you think of Cynthia?”

That was certainly not the question he had expected. Paul blinked, their faces to close that their noses were touching and his eyelashes could almost brush against his friend’s face. “She’s uh, a good girl. It was right if you to marry her, you know.” He was playing it safe, he did like her, and the only problem was that she loved John.

“Was I?” he asked, tone serious. It wasn’t the answer he was hoping for.

“It was all you could do with your situation,” Paul insisted, having been in the same position only two years prior, “Why?”

John was silent for a moment, searching the eyes before him. Suddenly he closed the space between them, which wasn’t saying much. The kiss was quick, they both tasted like whiskey, and John’s nerves were on fire. 

“Oh, that’s why,” Paul whispered before going in for another kiss. A hand moved up to cup John’s face, “I wish you hadn’t if that’s what you mean.” He had a small smile, covered by John’s lips in an instant. Of course, neither man would admit to them out loud, but they couldn’t deny how much they wanted this.

They continued to kiss, ears open incase of approaching footsteps as they were still in public, at risk even at this time of night. Eventually they both knew the had to go their separate ways, though neither wanted to. “Will…will this happen again?” John asked, his friend now practically in his lap.

Paul hesitated before nodding, “Let’s save this, us, for special occasions, yeah? Till next time?” They would have less of a risk of being found out if their hookups were spaced out, and there was no better way to celebrate. John agreed, though he couldn’t promise to keep the deal, know that he had a taste he wanted it all.

The guitarist pressed a kiss to his cheek, “I’ll see you tomorrow in the studio?”

“I’ll be there,” Paul said with a grin, getting off John, legs a little wobbly. “Mind escorting a drunk man home?”

John stood, almost falling himself as he bowed, “Be my pleasure.” He linked arms with Paul, for both of their benefits.

As the two made their way back to the main roads, they talked about nothing and everything, steps uneven, laughter ringing through the empty streets of Liverpool. There was an unspoken agreement between them as they parted, this night would never reach another’s ears. And they both planned to keep up their new found way of celebration.


	2. April 8, 1963

“I can’t believe I got toothpaste on my trousers,” Paul complained as he and John stepped inside their hotel room, “And had my picture taken with the stain!” He flopped down on the bed closest to the door, exhausted from their show and the drinks they had gone out for afterwards. That earned a laugh from his friend, who collapsed next to him, just as tired. “It’s your fault for yelling.”

John shoved him, “It’s your fault for brushing your teeth after a couple of beers like a bird!” He reached his hands out to grab Paul and pull him close, about to go a little further, a show was cause for celebration, wasn’t it? They had certainly celebrated over less than that, but a knock on the door stopped him, causing the guitarist to roll away from his friend and onto his back, “Come in!”

Their manager stepped into the room, “John, a phone call for you in my room. It’s the hospital.”

Those three words had him falling out of the bed before scrambling to his feet, he practically ran to Brian’s room and picked up the receiver. “Hello? This is John, John Lennon. Is everything alright? Is the little bugger out? How’s Cynthia?” his questions came out in rapid succession, heart beating fast. The midwife laughed at his excitement and assured him everything was okay and both the mother and baby were doing just fine. “Can I talk to her?” He had been calling his wife multiple times a day, any chance he could get while they were away. Of course, they had to be booked so close to the due date, it would be fair if they hadn’t been. “Hello? Cyn?”

His wife’s tired voice came through the phone, “John, we finally got through.”

“How are you? How’s the baby? Are you both doing well? When did you go in?” he sat down on the bed, knowing the call would take more than a few minutes. John wanted to know everything, well, except the gory details.

“Fine, fine. I’m exhausted, but we’re both fine,” Cynthia laughed softly, “I was in labour for quite a long time, but he finally made it out this morning. Oh John, you should see his face, looks just like you.” 

For the next twenty minutes the couple chatted about how soon John would be able to come see his son, in three days time unfortunately, and how the shows were going. There was a proud smile on his face as they talked, it never leaving his face even as they said goodnight and hung up. Paul was leaning on the door frame, he hadn’t been there long. John stood and spotted his friend, a laugh escaping him, “A son! Little Julian Lennon here at last!” He nearly scooped Paul up in his arms, swinging him around out of happiness, but knew he couldn’t do that until they were back in their own room, so he settled on hugging the man tightly for a quick moment.

The proud father wished everyone goodnight after many congratulations, even a cigar provided by Brian, and he and Paul retired to their room. After an eventful day and and even longer night, they were alone at last. Both men looked at one another, a silent debate going between the two on if they should just go to bed, or do a little celebrating on their own. Ultimately, the latter idea won and John wrapped his arms around Paul, pressing happy kisses onto his face and neck. This was a much better cause than they had when they started. “I’m a father now, isn’t that odd? And wonderful?”

Paul laughed as he was coated in kisses, his own arms going around John’s neck, returning the occasional kiss on the mouth. “Wonderful,” he walked the both of them over to the bed, ready to go ahead with whatever John wanted. “You’ll be lucky if that kid grows up to be nothing like you,” Paul teased, pulling him closer, the back of his own knees bumping the edge of the bed.

You’re telling me, Macca” John mumbled against his lips, “Now do you want me to shag you or are you going to continue to insult me?” His tone was light, nothing could bring him down from his high. He had a healthy baby boy and his Paul was right in front of him, pouty lips parted and ready to be kissed, what more could he possibly want?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't going to post again so soon, but I couldn't wait so here it is! The next one will be a bit more lovey between the boys, no interruptions to say the least!


	3. February 4, 1964

The two boys collapsed onto one of the twin beds in their hotel room, full of excitement and adoration. They had just finished their last show in France, and were soon headed to New York City. John took Paul’s face in his hands and planted kisses all over, “We did it Macca, we made it.” The older boy wrapped his friend into a tight hug, nothing could separate them tonight. Paul giggled, his arms around John’s middle. “America! Did you ever imagine we’d be headed over the lake?”

“It still feels like a dream,” the bassist said into John’s shoulder, a wide smile on his face, “And I get to do it all with you.” Paul started to kiss John’s neck, hands moving under his shirt.

John smirked, “Wasting no time, eh?” He was more than happy to pull off his shirt, helping his friend with his in return. It was time for celebration, and there was no better way to do that than in each other’s arms. Paul’s hands slid all over John’s bare chest and sides, grazing every inch of his upper half. It was as if he was touching him for the first time, though that was far from the truth. John was too preoccupied with taking off his friend’s belt and trousers to stop him from anything. They were both hungry and excited, it was apparent in their haste and sloppy kisses. Their lips collided again, Paul finally moving up from his neck where a few angry, red spots were beginning to form. “Paulie, Paul, you’re trousers,” John got out between collisions. This prompted Paul to remove his hands from his friend’s body to his own hips where his loose suit pants rested to pull them off, which didn’t take long and right after he went to work on John’s. 

Paul got John’s pants off in no time, disconnecting their lips to trail his teeth along his bare chest, stopping to nip at him every once and awhile, shimmying his trousers down as he went. The guitarist assisted and kicked them the rest of the way off, pulling Paul back up to meet his lips once again. “You’re something else,” Paul mumbled, pushing his body against John’s, knocking their hips together gently. It was a teasing gesture, playful. 

“God you’re gorgeous, princess,” he said, holding Paul’s face a few inches away from his own to get a good look at him. John let out a sigh, needing a moment to take it all in. The way his doe eyes held all of his emotions, allowing him to see everything, the way his eyebrows arched perfectly above them, his pouty lips formed in a perfect bow were becoming swollen from John’s aggressive kissing, everything. He wanted to see it all. His lust got the better of him, and it didn’t take him long to bring Paul’s face to his own to continue what they had begun. This was it. There was nothing he needed more than to experience this over and over again. Paul was all he needed. Nothing would ever break what they had. Sure they fought, but it was nothing more than temporary. They couldn’t stay mad at each other forever, it would always come back to nights such as these.


	4. August 15, 1965

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shea Stadium is a surprisingly good place to fool around.

“Fuck. That’s a big crowd...and stage...and field,” John muttered, running a hand through his shaggy and overgrown fringe as he looked out into the stadium. Paul clapped him on the back and gave him a reassuring smile, though his heart was pounding hard. All four of the boys were beyond nervous. They had never played anything this big before, it was nerve wracking. When they were positive no one was looking, Paul took John’s hand in his and squeezed it tight.

“It’s nothin’ we can’t handle. We’ll be fab, we always are. How long do we have before we perform?” Paul asked. An idea was formulating, something to soothe both of their nerves. The locker room bathroom was of decent size, had a lock, and this cinder block walls. As long as they weren’t needed for fifteen minutes they could have a little fun. “Do you think we could get away with a little alone time?” he asked, a hand wandering down John’s chest, stopping just above a highly damming spot. 

John leaned into the touch slightly, a poke might do wonders on his high blood pressure and anxiety, make him focus on something much more desirable. “Always, meet me in the bathroom in two minutes. I can bullshit Brian, do you think we can sneak into the other locker room? Ours might be too close,” he said in a quick, hushed voice. Paul nodded in excitement, glancing around before tapping John’s crotch teasingly and turning on his heels to leave.

“Meet you there in two, quicker if you can,” he called over his shoulder, headed in the direction of the locker room for the home team which was on the opposite of the visiting room that had been decided as the Beatles’ makeshift dressing room. That was much too close to others, this was illegal after all, they needed as much privacy as possible. John just laughed at his demand and hurried to find Brian.

“Macca?” John whispered into the darker section of the stadium, worried someone unwanted might hear him. He walked further into the closed locker room, all lights off except for a bright fluorescent glow coming from the bathroom towards the back. Locking the door, John grinned and went towards the open metal door. Inside the bathroom was Paul, perched on the counter, jacket already off, shirt unbuttoned. 

“Took you long enough.”

“Shut up!” John kicked the door closed and nearly pounced on his bassist, their mouths connected in an instant, hands all over the other leaving burning trails on their torsos and faces. “Fuck Paulie, you didn’t care to wait for me?” he asked between although Paul was ahead of him in the clothes department, it didn't take him long to catch up, jacket already on the floor and Paul helping him with the buttons of his shirt. He only received a shrug from his friend who was much too busy with his tongue.

Soon the tile floor was covered in discarded Beatles uniforms and a sock here and there, Paul was still on the counter with his back pressed into the mirror. John was leaning into him and his head was in his hands, his own hands rubbing up and down Paul’s bare thighs. Both were scared to make too much noise, though the several layers of cinder block would cover up any stray moan much better than a flimsy hotel drywall. This was the riskiest hook up yet, limited time, public space, before a show rather than after, it terrified each man, yet also filled them with excitement. The mirror wasn’t void of condensation from the warmth radiation off of them. John moved down, his kisses trailing along Paul’s body not unlike Paul’s hand earlier. Though he didn’t stop. He didn’t shy away from the act, they had done it before, it wasn’t new but it felt better each time it happened, they were getting better. Paul’s fingers were tangled in John’s hair, “Wait, wait, wait,” he said, absolutely breathless, “Finish with yer hand, yer voice…”

John did as he was told, and as soon as he was finished Paul made him switch positions so he could do the same. It was heated, full of want and desire rather than the tenderness and care of their previous sessions due to the rushed nature of it all. “You’re fuckin’ magic, macca” John said when he was done. Both were sweaty and out of breath, glad they were in a bathroom where paper towels and sinks were readily available.

It didn’t take them long to put themselves back together, splashing their faces with water, washing their mouths out, redoing each other’s hair. They were in and out in fifteen minutes as promised. Before leaving the locker room, John planted one last kiss onto Paul’s lips, “Break a leg, Paulie.”


	5. March 13, 1968

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Why Don't We Do It In The Road?' was written during the India retreat. Was it really about two monkeys?

John suffered through a kiss from his wife before walking away from the retreat on his way to the local post office. There was sure to be a postcard waiting for him there from his new, secret lover. Before he could get too far, a slender arm was slung over his shoulders, “Mornin’ Johnny. Had a hit yet?” Paul held out a half smoked joint to his friend, despite his resistance to the LSD John and George had recently taken up, Paul was still adamant on smoking a blunt every morning, perhaps a couple. It got him through the rather boring meditation sessions. “Where do you toddle off to every day? Mind if I tag along?”

The guitarist tried to shake Paul off of him, but gladly took the joint. “None of your business,” he had to admit, he felt much more guilty about this new fling with Yoko Ono when Paul was considered. With Cynthia, he didn’t mind, he wasn’t in love with her it was as simple as that, but Paul was something else entirely. He would even go as far as to say he loved the man, but an actual relationship just wasn’t feasible between the two. They were men, they were famous, anything between them was illegal and would ruin their careers. They both knew it, yet, the burning desire in their hearts couldn’t be matched for another. Maybe Yoko could wait. “Have any plans for the next hour?” John asked, still walking along though his attention was no longer on the postcard waiting for him.

“None, tired meditating earlier, but I couldn’t stop thinking. I don’t think I’m all that great at this thing,” Paul said with a grin, hoping he knew where this was going. The most he and John had done while in India thus far was share a few longing looks and the occasional make out session when they were certain they were alone and everyone thought they were off songwriting. Being the world’s most talented songwriting duo had its perks when it came to necessary alone time.

John raised an eyebrow, “About what?”

“Everything and nothing, I think I need a better teacher,” Paul went on, “Word around the retreat is that aside from George you’re pretty good at that sort of thing.”

“Is it now?” John knew he was flirting, but he couldn’t help but be a bit bothered by Paul’s choice of words. Their teacher was incredible, John had never been so enlightened in his life. And it was nice to be able to stop thinking for once, to let go and be led rather than lead. 

“Mhmm, and I’m just so awful at it. I’ve got too many great ideas rattling up there, you know.”

“I bet I could teach you a thing or two, my first pupil,” John knocked his shoulder into Paul’s, passing him back the joint. The pot was taking effect on the both of them, though more so on Paul as John could tell this was not his first joint. John was saving up his energy for a promised hit of LSD. “Are you going to need strict discipline? I’ve got to know all this ahead of time, to plan accordingly and such. Gather the whips.”  
Paul nodded, a giggle escaping him, “I’m rotten, Guru Lennon.” He leaned into John, steering him away from the main road, “We oughta start our sessions now, you know, before you start becoming more popular than the Maharishi.” John allowed himself to be pushed, the longer Paul was pressed up against him, the more he wanted what was sure to come. Yoko’s letters couldn’t be farther from his mind, he was ready to ‘teach’ his Paul all about ‘meditation.’ “I think here’s a perfectly fine spot, what do you say oh wise one?” John could all but nod before he was on Paul, getting a laugh out of him. “Jesus, you’ve gotten furry!”

John snorted, “And you’ve gotten scratchy, Macca.” Despite the new development of facial hair on both men, they didn’t stop their white tunics were soon lying in the dirt of the secluded road. Their touch was gentle, but hungry. John didn’t mind his back being pressed against the tough ground barely covered by new grass as long as Paul was on top of him. This was certainly against the Maharshi's teachings, against anyone’s teachings, but in the middle of nowhere in India who was to judge them? “Who knew these flimsy things were so useful, no buttons,” John muttered as he slipped Paul’s white trousers off and Paul did the same to him. Paul was just beginning to think this whole thing might be good for something after all. If not enlightenment then easy access. 

“I’ve gotta tell you,” Paul said in between his heaving breaths, “You beat a silly little lecture any day.”

**Author's Note:**

> Each meeting will be a different chapter and it will go in chronological order, I hope you enjoy ! :)


End file.
